Dave Sleswick doesn’t see the Tivoli’s Metro Venue of the Year award this April as a trophy for the mantelpiece; he views it as a tactical advantage in the “industry of human happiness”.
The Queensland Music Award win celebrates a rare alignment: a heritage room operating with a 21st-century punk energy.
While the fine arts sector receives the lion’s share of available government subsidy, it is the Valley that still attracts the sweat, the noise, and the people.
“The Tivoli is all about a rock ’n’ roll independent spirit,” creative director and co-owner Sleswick says.
“Music is no less important than the other art forms that receive significant public investment. I believe music holds the same level of value and relevance.”
To understand the gravity of receiving this award, it is important to understand what Brisbane has already lost. The original Tivoli Theatre—an ornate theatre designed by Henry E. White—was demolished in 1969 as part of the redevelopment around King George Square.
The current venue—the Valley’s “Tiv”—is the city’s redemption arc. It began life as the Adams Bakery in 1927, eventually serving as a state library book storage site before it was remodelled into a cabaret theatre in 1989.
By 2016, history threatened to repeat itself when the site was earmarked for development.
“Brisbane’s got a really long-standing history of destroying its cultural heritage spaces, and we didn’t want to be a part of that history,” Sleswick says.
He and his brother Steve stepped in as custodians of a legacy that has hosted an elite roster of global heavyweights:
Bob Dylan has headlined the room multiple times; Nick Cave and PJ Harvey have delivered sets of brooding intensity; and icons like Gene Simmons, Noel Gallagher, and Slash have all shredded under its ceiling.
In March 2009, Taylor Swift played her first Australian show at the Tivoli, touring her breakout album Fearless. Legends like Powderfinger and The Go-Betweens honed their sound here, alongside frequent visitors like Paul Kelly and Sarah Blasko. Recent bookings for Sleaford Mods and Saosin prove the Tiv remains a mecca for acts that could easily trade their soul for a sterile arena seat, but choose the Valley instead.
But as the world prepares to descend on Brisbane for the Games, there is a growing realisation that the “soul” of the city lives within the 4006 postcode, not just inside billion-dollar stadiums.
Photography: Kelsey Doyle
That attitude is now facing its biggest test.
Sleswick warns that the city cannot afford to blindly cheerlead large-scale development while grassroots venues battle on alone.
“We need to be positive but be constructively critical about our music scene or we won’t grow,” he says.
Behind the scenes, the mechanics of running a legacy venue are shifting. It is now a hyper-professionalised industry trying to outlast multinational rivals and a bruising cost-of-living crisis. The “live fast, die young” tropes of the past have been replaced; backstage riders are tamer, and green rooms are now more likely to lay on steaming cups of chamomile tea than bottles of spirits.
Despite that shift in tempo, the mission remains unchanged.
As Sleswick puts it: “Amidst all the upheavals and complexities we face, we must stop to remind ourselves that we get to play a part in an absolutely remarkable industry.”
